


No End

by Malind



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Incest, M/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2002-08-22
Updated: 2002-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25447420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: (Repost with major edits to chapters 1-4 which are a WIP) After fifty years of nightmares, regrets, and no way out, a single soul among millions is an ex-Turk's only hope for peace.
Relationships: Past Vincent Valentine/Lucrecia Crescent, Vincent Valentine/Original Character(s), Vincent Valentine/Sephiroth
Kudos: 2





	No End

**Author's Note:**

> 7/22/2020: 
> 
> This story is complete, but I'm currently working on editing the first 4 chapters of this story. I hate chapters 1-4. XD For various reasons. I've always wanted to fix them. This first chapter wasn't so bad although it took me two and a half months to edit it. So, yeah, this edit is most likely going to take a long, long time since I'll be editing/changing the shit out of chapters 2-4. If you've read this before, the basic story line won't change though.
> 
> Once I finish editing chapters 2-4, I'll post the rest all at once.
> 
> **Old author notes from 2014:**
> 
> I started writing this well before FFVII: Advent Children and Dirge of Cerberus came out. So here, as with the end of FFVII, Sephiroth is quite dead. I've written an OC as a reincarnation. So this is technically a Vincent/OC-Sephiroth-Reincarnation pairing...
> 
> This took 12 years to write with a huge break between chapters 5 and 6 (I started it before 8/22/2002).

Find him! Help him! Save him! Please!

Lucrecia’s words never strayed far from that basic vocabulary. And her words never fucking stopped. How many times now had they plowed through Vincent’s head, awake or asleep? How often had they threatened to split his skull as his thoughts choked and his body shook and dampened with sweat?

Sitting in his kitchen that early morning, he couldn't be rid of her words, of her. All of it made it so hard to believe the woman was dead or, at most, catatonic.

_Help him! He needs you!_

Vincent’s claw fisted chunks of hair, paining his scalp. “Fuck!”

At the same time, he slammed the mug on the table. Scalding coffee splashed onto his trembling hand, making him hiss through grit his teeth. The rickety table shuttered and squeaked under the harsh treatment. That gave him a slight pause, but it was better to torture the barely-held-together wood than release his aggressions on something fleshy. Besides, the table needed to be put out of its misery. Too bad he didn’t want to waste money on a new one.

As he scrubbed his hand briefly and the table with a couple of napkins grabbed from their wire holder, her words continued to thrash him, a laugh and a shake of her head at his arrogance in thinking he might get his way for once. How stupid of him.

After getting everything generally clean, he tossed the balled-up napkins towards the garbage and didn’t care to see if they made it in. Then he strangled the handle of the mug again. Then he broke off strands of hair at his scalp with his claw, bringing involuntary tears to his eyes. But the memory of her words, of her crying, raging face just wouldn't go away. God, he fucking hated mornings. And nights. And everything in between, really.

Trembling, breathing harshly, he feared for his sanity. Again. After twenty years of this, day after day of it, how the hell was he even sane anymore?

...He _was_ sane, right?

Folding into himself as much as he could sitting up to try to close off the outside world at the very least, Vincent couldn’t help but say to the dingy, humid air, "How the fuck am I supposed to find him, Lucrecia? Do you have any idea how many people are out there? You know I’ve tried to..." The useless words quieted and trailed off with a rough shake of his head.

Of course, she knew. She knew too much. In fact, she fucking knew everything, right? Even about what a shitty excuse of a barely human being he was. Well, she knew everything besides where to find Sephiroth. But none of that had stopped her invasions over the past two decades.

And where the hell had she been the thirty years Vincent had boiled in his wretchedness, his ‘sins’, in that moldy, frigid basement? Where had she been—mentally, at least—when she’d been alive and moving and actually capable of doing something, well, besides making everything worse.

At what point had she decided to fucking care? Well, apparently only when she’d seen all of the gory consequences of her actions in her mind.

And worse, why hadn’t she trusted him fifty years ago? She’d trusted him with her body. Why not her mind, her fate? And why hadn’t he just said fuck it and stolen her away, willingly or not? In fact, he should have done exactly that because she obviously hadn’t been capable of saving their child. In retrospect, of course that was an easy conclusion to come to. In the moment though...

Together, apart, they’d done none those things. Now, he was alone with nothing but his regret and shame and rage.

And, of course, his nightmares. Those had never stopped. Those, topped with his memories, made his whole life a living hell.

Vincent swallowed thickly at the vision of her in his dreams, one so unlike the woman he’d fallen in love with. Another demon to add to the mix.

After a shaky breath, Vincent choked down the rest of the coffee, relishing in the distracting burn, and then slammed the mug back onto the table. He stumbled to stand up and ended up glowering down at the thing that had helped birth this hell he lived in. Despite the rifle being one last gift from her—presumably anyway—he couldn’t will himself to pick the rifle up as he pictured blood dripping from his fingers from the merest touch. It was an absurd thing to think, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Nearly twenty years earlier, that rifle laying there now so innocently had fired one of the fatal blows into a beautiful, yet monstrous man, a seraph bent on destroying them all. Had Lucrecia known what he’d do with it when she’d gifted it to him? Had she seen Sephiroth’s death in her visions, too? Had she wanted him to kill him?

If Vincent had known what he’d come to do with the rifle, on whom he’d use it against—God, his own son!

If he’d known all those things, he would have left it on that cave floor.

He hated the thing. But he also couldn't get rid of it. Because he apparently actually cherished the hunk of metal, the only thing Lucrecia had ever given him, besides a child. It was the only physical thing he had left of Lucrecia and Sephiroth.

But none of that really explained why he’d taken it out of the closet in the first place. Unless, of course, he not-so-secretly loved self-torture. Eternal torture, at that.

Vincent fisted his normal hand in front of his face, eying the burn that was barely there anymore. He traced his gaze along the exaggerated veins and unnatural paleness from the lack of decent circulation. He flexed his fist. The flesh hadn't visibly aged a day for fifty years. It taken most of that time to unwillingly accept it might never age.

How many more years until this torture stopped? Would it take Sephiroth’s apparent reincarnation’s death? Would all of this start back up again in Sephiroth’s next life? And, if it indeed took that long, how much more of this, of Lucrecia, could he take before he went completely insane?

Of course, even in his insanity, he was sure wouldn't be able to die. But at least everything wouldn’t hurt so badly anymore. Hopefully. Fuck, with his luck, this personal hell would probably only increase tenfold.

Vincent shook his head slightly, eyes closed. "Are you ever going to stop, Lucrecia? Do you even know how?"

If the past was any indication, no. Not that he really blamed her underneath all his need for her to just finally fucking die. In fact, so much of what happened had been his fault. Or, at the very least, something he could have put a real effort into stopping.

Vincent clenched his hair with his claw again as his frustration drowned him. "I just... Just fucking accept that I can't do what you want! I can’t! What you want is impossible.”

His rough voice grated on his ears. When had he started talking to himself like this? Fuck if he knew. Like it really mattered anymore.

His insides raw, his breathing grew haywire. His body shook. It was all he could do to contain himself, to keep himself from throwing the coffee mug, the rifle, something, anything across the room. Or better yet, out the cracked window that barely allowed any light to stream through its thick curtains.

Maybe as an added bonus, the mug would clunk the head of a pedestrian innocently walking along a couple of stories down. Would the survivors call the police? Would the men in blue come running up the stairs, clubs in hand? Surely, that would be satisfying: pain to forget, pain to punish him since he didn’t have the balls to do it himself anymore.

Ah, simple pleasures.

…And his words and thoughts were getting him nowhere, just like every time before.

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you? You’re just keep fucking pushing me.”

And those words were pretty useless, too. But didn’t the woman realize he was admittedly unstable, an unwitting and willing murderer, an unwilling keeper of demons, literally and figuratively? What did she really think she was going to get out of him? Did she secretly want him to kill more? To do what Sephiroth had failed to do? Didn’t she think anymore? Could she even?

Vincent shook his head again, trying to stop himself from thinking. He didn’t want to think about any of this anymore. He didn’t want to feel this anymore. He didn’t want to kill anymore. He didn’t want to destroy more than he already had. Couldn’t she just accept that?

“Just fucking accept you’re dead!” Mostly, anyway. “He’s dead!" Hopefully.

The woman’s chocolate-colored, disagreeing eyes stared at him behind his closed lids, eyes that had engraved in his mind at first glance. With a growl, his heart pounding, Vincent grabbed his rifle and stumbled a step towards the door. He stopped to regain his balance, thrusting the gun into the holder at his back.

_Vincent, please, our son!_

"God, just shut-up! You have no right to do this to me!" He cried out into the barren room. Only silence came back to him, besides the light breeze the rapped against the open window. Much lower, a near whisper, he added, “And you should have told me he was our son before I…”

If only she’d told him before it’d been too late. If only he’d really looked at Sephiroth instead of denying the reality in front of his face.

Vincent raked his metal claw through his hair, yanking out strands in the process. He didn't really notice those sparks of pain, dim in comparison to all others. He knew he deserved all of this. And more. Because he should have know. It should have been so obvious. So many things should have been. Again with retrospect and another twenty years to dwell on it with Lucrecia’s assistance, it was.

"Give me more of a description, and I may be able to do something." He truly meant to leave it at that, but couldn't help also growling, "Or just come back to this fucking hell and do it yourself!"

He could almost hear her sobbing. No, this would never end.

Not sparing another glance around his decrepit apartment, Vincent grabbed his backpack, tossing it over his shoulder, and strode out the door. The hallways and stairs were thankfully bare of other tenants.

One of the first to be built in Rocket Town, the building was older than his seventy-seven years. It showed. Every wall pealed with paint, revealing the decaying wood behind. A thick coating of dust provided welcome insulation since there was no true insulation in the walls. Apparently, the original owner hadn’t cared about the tenents’ high heating and cooling bills. Winters in Rocket Town tended to get cold, and the summers were blazing hot like that day was sure to be. The floor boards creaked. Every shadow and patch on the walls whispered secrets. The building had a history if someone wanted to pry.

Trudging down the last few steps and noting the appreciative set of eyes that now groped his every movement, Vincent had learned long ago that there was no need to pry. At least not for him. The old woman would tell him anything, as long as he was willing to... oblige her.

The woman blurted out as he descended the last step, "Get a couple of those Velchers this time. Those God-awful Crown Lances you keep bringing back are giving me the shits." If Loris was nothing else, she was blunt.

After slowing to stop in front of her, Vincent cleared his throat, crossed his arms over his chest, and then smiled softly at the woman reclining on the couch. "Those are what people complain about though."

Loris raised a brow that still managed to scowl somehow. "You want cheaper rent or not?"

Vincent dropped his gaze to his feet and snorted. There was no point in arguing with her or he'd be there for hours. And he still wouldn't win.

She snorted herself then, although it sounded more like a hack. "Put up with an old woman's bitching and get me something that won't send me to the bathroom every five minutes."

There was no stopping his smirk. He didn't 'put up with' her for the cheaper rent. He did it since she was the only person who treated him as if he were merely human. Yes, she was several years younger than himself, but she was nonetheless the closest thing he had to a mother. And a friend.

He let go of another dryly-humored snort. "Not that I need either."

She craned her head toward him. "Eh?"

Vincent shook his head, his soft smile returning as he looked at her wrinkled face again. “Nothing.”

Loris sighed throatily and molded completely back into the couch, her knowing eyes never leaving him. "Cheer up, boy. The world ended twenty years ago, not tomorrow."

Vincent tried his damnedest not to cringe, but as she frowned, he knew he hadn't succeeded. That was enough motherly love for one day.

Unlike Lucrecia, at least he could walk away from Loris. Sort of. And he sort of proved that by stalking to the building’s front door and adding over his shoulder, "You're right. It did."

The world had ended twenty years before. He just hadn’t realized it at the time.

Stepping outside, Vincent was bombarded with the early-morning sounds of commuters getting to work. Rocket Town had once been a small, shut-in, inbred community. After twenty years, it had evolved and expanded to the coast line, as well as to the east, south, and west, managing to become the new Midgar, attracting both a good portion of the destroyed city's population and many new residents who wanted some action.

If Vincent had stayed away from Rocket Town for the previous twenty years, he wouldn't have recognized the place. Cid was surely cursing from his grave. _Anything_ a person's deprived mind and full bank account could possibly want was laid out like a buffet. At least on one side of town, it was.

Vincent pressed his lips together at the thought of his friend and the damnable cigarettes Cid had refused to give up, but Vincent refused to dwell on it. Cid had been a grown man, and unlike Vincent, wouldn't have lived forever no matter his habits. Nonetheless, had Vincent been able to admit to himself back then that his friend _would_ truly die one day, Vincent would have held a cigarette bonfire, Cid leaping and cursing about like a creature out of a fairy tale, just to hear his friend's bitchy voice that day.

What was even more agonizing than an eternity of putting up with himself was defenselessly watching the people he cared for die.

After a step forward, Vincent let the crowd wash him down the street. Trying in vain to convince himself that what he felt was dry amusement, most people kept an unconscious distance from him. Everyone knew who he was or had at least heard of him. Who could miss his glowing crimson eyes or claw?

Glowing eyes in general were becoming rarer with every passing year. The SOLDIER program no longer existed. Reeve had taken the seat of the president, and with minimal direction, had pretty much given the people free rein to rebuild their lives, and discover new technologies to replace Mako energy. An invention of Cid and his wife, the windmills to the east supplied the city with a good portion of its energy.

Vincent walked block after block after block. By late morning, the beach spread out before him. Boats, ships, and countless people paraded about, accomplishing their tasks for the day. He himself was on patrol via the payroll of the city.

And the march began. . .

By the end of the day, Vincent wondered why yesterday had even bothered turning into today. There wasn't a single moment that he could recall. Boring. Draining. Hot. What a life.

Long strides took him back to the locker room where he showered to get the salty sweat and scent of the salty ocean off his skin and hair. Then he changed into fresh clothing he pulled out from his backpack, black pants and a form-fitting black vest. Over his damp hair, to tame it, he wrapped a clean bandanna. Finally, he shoved his dirty clothes into his bag and headed right back into the crowd.

Its flow was almost relaxing, but the heat of the bodies around him only added to his own heat. Not to mention, the smell of sweat and dirt was nearly overwhelming. But he was used to that. It just reminded him that they all had survived another day.

Near his apartment building, once he hit the local market, a wrinkled old face popped into his thoughts right on cue, and he cringed slightly. He’d forgotten about her. He glanced to his right, which was easy considering he was taller than the majority of the crowd, and spotted the meat shop he occasionally visited. The crowd parted for him as he made his way over and across the street.

The small shack of a building housed some of the best meat in Rocket Town. The man was an excellent butcher, cutting the slabs to perfection and using only the best of the stock. Vincent often wondered why the man stayed in the ancient shop. Surely, he had the money to move to a better location. Perhaps the butcher just merely loved his little shop. In the end, it didn't matter since Vincent appreciated the closeness of his store. It was the only butcher shop he gave his business.

Soon enough, the butcher turned away from a customer and to him, wiping his hands on a rag. "What'cha need tonight?"

"Something for Loris," Vincent said as he eyed the various meats for something for himself. Not that he really needed to eat, but well, it was something to do other than cry and rage.

"Aye."

The gruff tone made Vincent look up, and he saw Mitch scowling at him with an underlining smirk. The butcher and Loris were decades old friends. She might have even been been part or all of the reason he’d stayed in that shop, but Vincent had never felt close enough to him to ask.

Mitch continued with, "I've been hearing the problems you've been causing her. Many times. Try to be gentle with that woman’s digestive track."

Vincent snorted and looked back to the meats. "Yeah, well, up until two weeks ago, Crowns were her favorite."

"Like that matters," the butcher said with a chuckle. "I'll get her something nice. Let me know if anything catches your eye."

A few minutes later, Vincent had a couple of bags of packaged meat, one with a couple of Velcher Task cuts, and a much lighter wallet.

When he stepped foot back into the apartment building, Loris was still seated where she always was. She was relined out on the plush coach, snoozing up something fierce as he made his way up to her. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to wake her up. One long, drawn-out, rumbly snore made up his mind for him. He bent over and set the bag on the ground. With her bathroom habits, she'd be up in a half an hour or less and would find it there. He was about to stand back up when a wrinkly, spotted hand grabbed his metal wrist. He was always surprised when the woman had grabbed him there like that. There wasn't a single other person who would have dared.

"Just going to let me snore my life away?"

Vincent’s jaw dropped slightly, unsure how to best respond without trapping himself.

Apparently liking what she saw, Loris grinned and petted the claw with her other hand. "You come on inside, and I'll fix you something nice."

Vincent cleared his throat. He knew that grin and wasn't about to step foot in her apartment. If he did, he wouldn't leave until morning. The woman had a surprising amount of stamina when she willed herself to do more than just survive.

"Sorry, but I already have plans. Maybe next week."

Loris snorted. "Yeah, sure. You've said that for the past few hundred weeks." Under wrinkled skin, sharp eyes looked him over for a moment, before she patted him once more and sighed out, "Go on. Get out there before I lock the security doors and chain you to my bed."

Vincent ignored the teasing and instead straightened out her house coat in a way that was familiar. Maybe he fathered her as much as she mothered him. "Fix yourself something nice." He shifted a glance over her unnaturally pale face and almost couldn't hold back a sob. One day, she would be gone, too. "Then get some rest. Another day tomorrow."

"Boy, the last thing I need is more rest."

He laid his normal hand on her cheek and kissed her lips. "Rest."

Then he was up and stalking back out the door, an immortal running away from unavoidable, unstoppable death.

Vincent stormed down block after block. Eventually, thankfully, he arrived at the racier part of town. It was a newer section, which wasn't a bad thing since it meant there wasn't piss and puke in every alley way and cum on every bathroom wall. The owners did their best to keep their property looking clean enough to dare enter. But after the buildings were sold and resold, eventually the area would be a scary place to look for one's next fix.

There was only one place Vincent felt could drown out everything, even if only for a few self-indulgent minutes. The theater he stopped in front of was one he frequented, one of many. It was also usually the least busy since the flicks they showed were older ones.

Barely clad men and woman graced every poster that was tacked across the length of the front. Men on men. Women on women. Women on men. As well as other various arrangements of hinted sex, sodomy, domination, and bestiality.

Vincent greeted the familiar face at the window, lost a little more money, and quickly found himself inside of the large complex. Various theaters and waiting rooms—spaces which the staff seldom visited to keep them private—lined the long hallways. It was enough of a mess to get lost in, but Vincent knew where he was headed.

His theater of choice was a smaller room. It was ornamented with old day themes and only showed older gay porn flicks, ones better than the newer atrocities. Of course, any young person probably would have disagreed with him. To top it off, the room was blessedly free of cluttering bodies. Vincent smiled comfortably for the first time that day. Yep, the best seat in town.

He walked to the middle, removed his backpack, holder, and the weapon inside, reclining the set on the seat next to him. He then pushed down his seat flap and shrugged into the cushioned metal.

The movie was one he’d seen on occasion. It wasn't the most memorable but was worth a session of masturbation. Within minutes, he had a demanding bulge running partially down his leg. He reached out and squeezed it. Pure, simple pleasure shot through him. He bit his lower lip to hold back a groan, and was about to explore the length more, when the door to the theater suddenly burst open and at least two laughing men came into the room. Vincent growled, sinking lower into his seat. The laughing then turned to whispers, and Vincent got the distinct feeling he was in the presence of teenagers.

"Fucking great," he growled and tried to find a bit more space to sink into.

Much to his annoyance, out of the corner of his eye, he watched the two sit in the smaller section lining the other wall, but along the same row. He could feel their eyes on him as their whispers continued.

"Just watch the fucking movie," Vincent growled under his breath.

One of them sunk back into a seat, the creaks barely heard over the sudden loud moans coming from the speakers. Vincent almost thought that the one-sided staring match was over, when the other guy suddenly stood up and…

Had the balls to start walking directly over to him!

"What the fuck?" Vincent hissed, unheard over the moans and pants and slapping bodies of the actors.

Vincent was about to tell him to fuck off with a bit more enthusiasm since the telepathy approach obviously wasn’t working, when a rather shapely backside shimmied its way in front of him and to the seat on the other side. That was not what Vincent had needed to see at that moment. The sexy lips that curved with an unhindered smile certainly weren't helping his resolve either, as Vincent looked to the man.

"Hey there."

The sexiness vanished as Vincent realized the man couldn't have been any more than twenty. The previous laughing that’d verged on childish giggling should have told him that.

"We saw you outside and, well, we were heading to the theater across the street, but man—" Without warning, the borderline teenager reached out a hand and scraped fingernails along the hard length at Vincent's groin. Vincent sucked in his breath, his whole-body tensing, but he didn't stop him either when he started to repeatedly trace the shape of his cock with his fingernails. "I just couldn't resist. I'll take care of this for you."

The awful pleasure of the redhead's shameless groping made Vincent shudder so hard that he gripped the teenager's hand to still its motions, but he still couldn't find the will to pull it away. This wasn't the first time he'd had sex in a theater. But a minute before, he'd wanted the simple pleasures of masturbation.

But then Vincent shrugged mentally, as he acknowledged that, over the past two decades, he’d seldom thrown out an offer from a willing, beautiful man, especially one who clearly knew what he was doing. Especially when he could close his eyes and imagine...

Imagine things he deserved death for.

_Just add them onto the list..._

Grinning, the boy clearly caught on to the lack of resistance and used his other hand to help unbutton Vincent’s pants, take down his zipper, and pull out his erection, Vincent’s hand falling away during the process. His most-likely one-time lover instantly leaned over and worked on the task at hand. Vincent shuddered, fighting to keep back a moan, as the teenager's noisy slurps and suckles became even more enthusiastic. Vincent's head lulled back. Bangs tickled his face as it then rolled to the side.

Vincent’s heart thrashing even more so, crimson eyes widened. His body jerked to sit upright with a, "Fuck!" as his hand gripped the teenager’s shoulder to shove him away. Not that the shoving happened for some ridiculous reason that Vincent was sure was hormone related.

Still gripping the cock solidly, the redhead yanked his head up and followed Vincent's gaze. Then he laughed lightly. "He wants to watch. You don't mind, do you?"

The redhead didn't give Vincent any time to reply, instantly continuing his previous sopping-wet attentions. Vincent gasped and then gritted his teeth to dampen any more noise. The teenager in the distance had looked down with his previous exclamation, which somehow managed to make Vincent wonder what exactly these two were trying to accomplish while the redhead sucked him in. His cock hit the back of the teenager’s throat. His eyes half-lidded, and he found then that he couldn't have cared less what their deviant minds were planning since his own thoughts were probably just as bad.

While the redhead, bringing him to a quick climax, was utterly sexy and could have been one of the models on the posters lining the building, this other teenager, whose eyes had drifted back up to meet his, holding the gaze with a clear lust, was rather plain. Dusty blonde, board-straight hair brushed just at his shoulders, and pale skin caught the light of the projector, making him look almost sickly. He wasn't someone a person would have looked at twice, unless they had taken the time to look into his eyes. Those eyes...

They overwhelmed Vincent with a passion that couldn't be mistaken underneath the obvious shyness or maybe frailty. They seemed to want to fuck him as much as the teenager at his lap was.

Their gazes remained locked with one another's for almost another minute before Vincent couldn't hold back any longer. When he finally came hard into the redhead’s mouth, the other teenager’s eyes were sucking him dry as much as the mouth was. God, it was good.

Yanking Vincent out of the moment, the younger man stood up immediately after and smiled crookedly at him, his pale, freckled cheeks flushed. Apparently, it was Vincent's own job to put his softening dick back into his pants. And he did so as the teenager moved back around him and to his seat. Vincent watched after him and was expecting him to sit back down, but the redhead instead suddenly grabbed his friend, forcing him to stand up, and kissed him deeply. Vincent watched, mesmerized.

Then the redhead released the taller, blond-haired teenager and smiled back at Vincent. "Thanks."

The blond teenager wiped at the curve of his lips and looked to Vincent. Vincent felt heat pulse through him again, twitching his cock, as he suddenly realized what his aggressive lover had done. The odd positioning of the redhead’s mouth had been from a refusal to swallow the cum. And the other teenager had willing swallowed every bit of it, and was now pressing his body against the slightly shorter frame, clearly begging with his own desire. Vincent would have taken care of him in a heartbeat. But a moment after the 'Thanks', the redhead took his friend's hand and led him from the room. Vincent found himself wanting to follow after them, but didn't dare. His head turned to follow them, at least.

The door closed. Vincent blinked. Coming down from his orgasm, he noted that those few minutes had been one of the most satisfying and unsatisfying sexual experiences of his life. Nonetheless, Vincent decided that he had gotten what he wanted.

Then again, maybe not...

Disorientated, he stood up slowly, strapped his rifle back on, grabbed his backpack, and started the long trek home. He was grateful when the foyer of the apartment building was empty. No Loris. But then for a brief, deviant moment, he considered knocking on her door. The absurd idea was shrugged off just as quickly. No matter her flirting, her health just wasn't good enough anymore for a sexual relationship. Their nights together were over with and had been so for over ten years.

Vincent sighed. There was nothing like being twenty-seven for eternity.

Tired legs trudged up the stairs and to his room. After stripping down, he laid on his bed. It took him but a heavy breath to realize how tired he was. He fell asleep too quickly even though he knew what was coming.

Then the nightmares began.


End file.
